Author's Preface
[Annie]
Sunday afternoon arrives with an unexpected notification on my phone.
Kai: Be ready by 3 PM . We’re heading out early.
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keypad.
Annie: 3 PM? I thought this was just dinner.
Kai : It’ll be dinner time by the time we get there anyway. Wear something casual and comfortable.
I drop the phone onto my bed and open the closet.
When I step into the living room twenty minutes later in blue denim jeans and a fitted beige knit top, my grandmother looks up from her knitting with an approving gleam in her eyes. "Going out with Mr. Sterlings?"
"It’s just a dinner to clear up a work misunderstanding," I say, pulling my hair back into a low clip.
Mom steps out of the kitchen, her brows furrowed.
"Annie, be careful. He’s your boss. Mixing work with personal outings gets messy fast. Call us or better, call Oliver if something happens."
"Don’t worry, Mom," I say quietly, grabbing my purse. "I've got it under control."
[ *** ]
At 3:10 PM, I head down to the basement parking lot.
The dim overhead fluorescents cast long shadows across the concrete, and for a moment, I don't recognize the figure leaning against the pillar near the exit ramp.
Kai isn't wearing his tailored suits or crisp collared shirts.
He’s in faded black jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, a worn leather jacket, and heavy boots.
His hair is messy, falling slightly over his forehead.
He looks completely stripped of his corporate authority—sharper, younger, and undeniably striking.
When my sneakers squeak against the pavement, he turns, his eyes sweeping over my jeans and top before offering a small, approving nod.
He taps the seat of a matte-black sport motorcycle parked right beside him.
I stop dead in my tracks. "A bike?"
Kai reaches onto the handlebars, picks up a sleek black helmet, and holds it out to me.
Tucked under his arm is a second leather jacket, smaller than his own.
"Put this on," he says, handing over the jacket. "It gets cold near the open roads later."
"Wait, Kai—" His name slips right off my tongue before I can catch it. "We’re riding a motorcycle?"
Instead of answering, he pulls his own helmet over his head, the dark visor snapping shut.
He swings a long leg over the frame, the engine roaring to life with a deep, throat-rumbling growl that echoes through the empty garage.
He looks back at me, tapping the empty leather seat behind him.
"Sit tight and hold on," his voice comes through the helmet visor, muffled but commanding.
I zip the heavy jacket up to my chin, buckle the helmet strap under my jaw, and climb onto the narrow seat behind him.
My hands hover awkwardly above his waist.
The memory of the dance floor at the lounge—the heat of his hands, the agonizing fraction of an inch between our lips, and the cold reality of him backing away—flashes so vividly in my mind that my fingers instinctively draw back.
How can he look so unfazed?
How can he act like our almost-kiss never even happened?
Hesitating, I reach behind my hips, awkwardly gripping the cold metal grab rails of the bike instead.
Kai checks his mirror, noticing the wide gap between us and my rigid posture.
He lets out a short, quiet breath, shifts into neutral, and reaches back with one hand.
Gripping my wrist firmly, he pulls my arms straight around his waist, forcing my chest flat against his back.
"Hold on properly, Annie," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Unless you want to slide off the back on the highway."
My face burns inside the helmet, but I don't pull away.
Through the leather of his jacket, the solid heat of his back radiates straight into my palms as he clicks the gear into place and shoots up the exit ramp.
[ *** ]
We ride for nearly forty minutes, leaving the cluttered downtown grid behind as the buildings open up into wide, tree-lined boulevards.
He pulls up outside a converted brick warehouse adorned with wide white banners.
I unbuckle my helmet, smoothing my hair down as I read the bold lettering across the archway: Design Archives: Interactive Consumer Retrospective.
My jaw drops.
This exhibit was completely sold out weeks ago—our entire creative department had complained about missing it.
I look at Kai as he hooks both helmets onto the bike.
"How did you get in here? Tickets were gone in five minutes."
"The Company sponsored the venue," Kai says casually, pulling two basic guest passes out of his pocket as if it's no big deal. "Our team gets a quota. I had a pair sitting on my desk."
[ *** ]
For the next two hours, Kai walks through the gallery halls beside me.
He listens as I point out classic branding campaigns, occasionally leaning down to whisper a dry, sharp observation about a past industry mistake that makes me laugh out loud right in the middle of a silent room.
At one point, while standing before a wall of vintage packaging designs, I turn to point out a subtle color shift on a 1995 cosmetic line.
Kai isn't looking at the display.
He’s standing half a step behind me, his dark eyes fixed entirely on my face, a quiet, unreadable expression resting in his features.
Watching his calm, composed face only deepens the knot in my chest.
What is actually going on in his mind?
Is he really not affected by any of this, or is he just impossibly good at hiding it?
[ *** ]
By 6:08 PM, the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of amber and violet.
Kai leads me back to the bike, and we ride toward the riverbank—a sprawling, grassy viewpoint where locals casually gather every weekend evening.
He grabs a cheap woven mat from a roadside vendor, spreading it out over the dry grass near a quiet crest away from the main crowd.
He walks over to a nearby food stall and returns carrying two paper trays filled with hot street food—crispy garlic skewers, grilled corn, and iced lemon teas.
"Here....Eat," he says, handing me the food while sitting down beside me on the mat and crossing his legs.
We sit side-by-side on the grass, eating as the cool evening breeze sweeps off the water.
Suddenly, a loud boom echoes across the river.
A burst of golden fireworks erupts into the dark sky—a regular weekend council show for the riverbank visitors.
Sparks of green, crimson, and silver rain down over the water, reflected in the dark waves below.
I sit up, my mouth opening slightly as a massive, glittering orchid-shaped shell explodes directly overhead. "Look at that one!"
A metallic click-whir sounds beside me.
I turn my head quickly.
Kai is holding a small, silver digital camera to his eye, the tiny glass lens pointed straight at me.
He presses the shutter once, the small flash flickering briefly against his face before he lowers the device.
"Where did that even come from?" I ask, blinking at the retro gadget.
He takes a few more pictures— the fireworks, the people, the river.
"I collect pictures," he says, while sliding the camera back inside the heavy inner pocket of his leather jacket.
I shift on the mat, a little conscious under his steady gaze, but I push the feeling aside and turn my attention back toward the exploding colors over the water.
As the flashes of color light up his sharp profile, the unspoken tension thickens again.
Sitting this close to him, the booming bursts overhead drag my thoughts right back to that night at the lounge—the pulsing lights, the proximity, the sudden distance afterward.
I glance at him sideways, frustrated by his total composure.
Why am I the only one losing my breath over this?
[ *** ]
Half an hour after the fireworks end, Kai drives us down a narrow, quiet alleyway lined with paper lanterns.
He parks the bike outside a tiny, discreet shop with a sliding wooden door and a red fabric curtain hanging over the frame.
Inside, the space is warm, filled with the rich, savory aroma of simmering broth.
Only two other patrons sit at the counter.
The moment the wooden door slides open, an elderly woman behind the stove looks up, her face instantly lighting up with a wide smile.
"Ah! Kai!" she exclaims in an excited voice, wiping her hands on her apron as she walks over.
She glances sharply behind him, her eyes locking onto me, and lets out a delighted gasp.
"You finally brought your girlfriend today!"
My face catches fire. "Oh—no, I'm not—"
"Two orders of the usual, please," Kai interrupts smoothly, his hand lightly touching the small of my back to guide me past the counter.
The owner chuckles knowingly, shaking her head as she winks at me and gestures toward a cozy wooden booth in the back corner. "Right away, right away!"
[ *** ]
We sit across from each other on the low benches.
"Do you come here often?" I ask, looking around at the handwritten paper menus pinned to the dark wood walls.
"I used to be a regular," Kai says, unzipping his jacket and resting his forearms on the table. "I've been coming here for several years. She used to give me student discounts even when I didn't ask for them."
Watching his composed demeanor finally prompts me to speak up.
The exhibit, the riverbank, the fireworks, the sudden photos—they all feel far too intentional for a simple repayment dinner, and the confusion bubbling inside me forces the words out.
I set my glass down with a firm thud on the dark wood.
"Why did you bring me here, Kai?" I ask directly, keeping my voice even.
He blinks, his eyes meeting mine. "For dinner. Like we agreed."
"No," I say, leaning forward slightly.
"You said dinner. But before that, you took me to a sold-out exhibit, sat with me at the riverbank for the fireworks, and brought me all the way out here. Why didn't we just go straight to a restaurant down the street and get it over with?"
Kai stares at me for a long second, his face completely unreadable before a small, dry curve touches the corner of his mouth.
"Because the exhibit passes were expiring today, Annie," he says smoothly. "And the riverbank is on the direct route to this alley. Traffic on the main street was backed up until seven. Sitting on the grass was faster than idling on a bike in gridlock."
He tilts his head, his gaze locking onto mine with quiet intensity. "Did you think I planned a grand romantic tour for you?"
I swallow hard, feeling a brief flush of heat at his straightforward logic, but I hold my ground.
"It just seems like a lot of effort for someone who claims to strictly manage department schedules."
"I'm efficient with my time," he answers simply. "And this is a good place to eat."
"If you're so efficient," I say, watching him, "you might want to clarify things with the owner. Unless you let everyone assume you're bringing the wrong girlfriend."
Kai stops. "What do you mean?"
"Do you not bring Lucy here?" I ask bluntly.
His brow furrows in total confusion. "Lucy?"
I stare at him, taking in the relaxed curve of his shoulders, the faint softness around his eyes, and the way the warm yellow lantern light catches the sharp angle of his jaw.
A flush creeps up his neck under my prolonged gaze.
He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat before his expression settles back into its usual calm mask.
Before I can say anything, the owner arrives with two steaming bowls of tonkatsu ramen topped with soft-boiled eggs and thick slices of pork belly, along with two glass bottles of complimentary plum soda.
"Your order. Enjoy, enjoy!" she says warmly before heading back to the kitchen.
The steaming broth sits between us, filling the silence.
Kai picks up his chopsticks, split-snapping them cleanly.
"If I'm correct, she called me your girlfriend because she's been waiting for you to bring one," I say, keeping my tone crisp. "Everyone from the university knows that you and Lucy have been together. "
Kai stares at me for a long, agonizing moment.
A slow, quiet breath leaves his chest as he rubs the bridge of his nose.
"Lucy is an old friend," He says flatly. “She asks me to hang out or grab coffee, and I entertain it occasionally."
I sit there, frozen in the booth.
"You're lying," I whisper and give him a look.
"I don't lie to you, Annie," he says simply.
My mind spirals instantly back through four years of university memories—the hushed whispers in the lecture halls, the rumors in the library, the endless gossip about the poker faced guy who walked through campus with a trail of stories behind him.
"Then... did you not know?" I press, leaning closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Did you not know the rumors going around the entire campus about you?"
Kai tilts his head slightly, his eyes cold and calm. "I knew some of them. Apparently, I was a player who changed girls like clothes."
"Why didn't you ever clear your name then?" I question, my hands tightening against the table. "Why did you just let everyone believe those things about you?"
"Clear my name to who?" He asks, his voice dropping into a low, quiet register that sends a shiver straight down my spine. "It didn't matter to me. The people spreading the stories or the ones listening didn't matter either."
He pauses and looks at me. "Most people had already made up their minds about me."
The quiet intensity of his words strikes me like a physical blow.
The noise of the restaurant fades away entirely.
I sit there, staring at him as the layers of rumors, assumptions, and third-party gossip I had built around him for years start crumbling into nothing.
The silence stretches long and heavy between us.
I look at his hands resting on the dark wood table, then up at his unyielding eyes.
The one question everyone on campus had speculated about for years rises to my lips.
"Why did you leave university in the middle of the semester?" I ask softly. "Why did you suddenly drop out and disappear, Kai?"
I see him stiffen.
The easy, relaxed posture vanishes instantly.
Kai’s fingers tighten against his chopsticks.
His jaw locks, the muscle twitching along his jawline, and I watch as the light in his eyes completely dies out.